Darke Grae and Torne
by BlackBlood1872
Summary: It was for research that he first visited, but it escalated from there. AU after DH – EWE. Secretive Facts universe


_Darke Grae and Torne  
>Summary: It was for research that he first visited, but it escalated from there. AU after DH – EWE.<br>Category: Harry Potter  
>Genre: General<br>Rating: K+  
>Characters: Harry P.<br>Complete – Oneshot  
>Words: 2092<em>

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><p>He had forgotten his original reason for being in the bookshop. But, isn't that what always happens when your visit goes off on a tangent as great as his?<p>

It was a sunny day, the light shining down on Diagon Alley in such a way that everything seemed ten times brighter. All the displays, all the carts, even the tiny shop off at the end of the Alley. The bookstore was normally hidden by shadows, making it appear as if it were a part of Knockturn, even though it was merely on the edge.

Harry knew the vague reason he'd entered the shop (_Darke, Grae and Torne_) though hopefully none of his friends did. Research. Not the research Hermione would like him to do, the research that would help him in his upcoming Auror training (even if he wasn't going to do it, but they didn't know that) or even his Animagus training (which was another excuse – he didn't really care that much. Privately, in the dark of his apartment, he thought his form would be a snake).

No, this was purely for his own private project. His little _guilty pleasure_.

The Dark Arts.

Harry had never really liked any of the 'Light' spells Hogwarts taught. They were always... difficult for him to grasp. Even Ron got most of them, while Harry struggled. He'd only managed to learn the Patronus charm because of the Dementors. If he'd had to continue his training with Professor Lupin, he knew he never would have mastered it.

Sometimes, though he never told anyone, the charm didn't even work for him. But his friends didn't comment on his lack of performing it, citing the lack of necessity now that the war was over. He was thankful for that, at least.

The sunlight glinted off the windows of the shop, the crowded bookshelves looming in the dim lighting inside. Not even the sun could lighten it. Harry smiled slightly, pushing the door open. A tiny bell jingled above him, the only sound in the building.

He had only browsed for a minute when he first heard it. A grumble from the desk – or where he'd barely seen the front desk – then an irritated tapping noise. Someone drumming their fingers, Harry guessed. The tapping stopped a moment later and when no more sounds came forth, Harry returned to the shelf in front of him. Two slightly ruffled tomes where already in his hand, both containing 'Grey' spells. If his friends were watching him practice, even by accident, he didn't want them to feel the taint that Dark magic carried. He knew they'd recognize it and he didn't really want that to happen.

But he'd still get a book on the darker Grey Spells, for the future.

The sound came again, then, along with a grumbled curse and a light thump. Then the tapping. Curious, Harry wandered through the rows, peering around the last one at the desk.

A ruffled man, much like his books, was slouching over the desk, a large tome open under him. His eyes – hidden behind a small pair of spectacles – rapidly scanned the page, flicking back to the pile of closed books beside him. He frowned heavily, grumbled and turned to the next page. He scanned this page and paused a moment to squint at something, hand running over his unshaven chin. He looked back at the books, then the text. His hand lightly hit the wood a second later and he flipped another page.

Harry, deeply intrigued now, walked up to the desk and peered at the mysterious books. The man hadn't noticed him yet.

The books, eight in total, were thin, reminding Harry vaguely of Tom's diary from second year. The edges were fraying, like everything else in the store, but looked in good condition besides that. The top book, the only one he could see, had a title in silver lettering, unlike the golden he was used to seeing. In neat, albeit small print, _Magicks of Healing_ was written.

The owner looked up, finally noticing him, and jumped. Harry stared at him calmly, smirking lightly, then looked back at the book.

"What are you doing?" he murmured, any other sound being too loud in the empty shop. The gruff man cleared his throat, frowning at the tome.

"I'm trying to translate the title. To figure out where to put them," he glared at them now, all nine of the books on the desk, as if it were their fault. "But I can't find out what it _is_!"

Harry furrowed his brows at the man – whom still hadn't given his name, though to be fair, neither had Harry – then looked at the neat scrawl of the perfectly legible title. He'd puzzle over that when he got the man's name, he decided.

"I believe I can help you, Mr... um..." he raised an eyebrow at the man, who started. He plastered on a smile, going into his 'customer greeting' he must have forgotten to do.

"Kain. No Mr stuff. Just Kain," he nodded and Harry nodded back. "Now, you say you can help...?" his eyes, a greenish grey, glittered hopefully at the younger man. Harry sighed, eyeing the books.

"Actually, I was confused when you said you were translating it," he started, ignoring the huff he received, "because it says quite clearly, in English mind, _Magicks of Healing_. I'm not sure about the others, but that one's on Medimagic."

Kain just stared at him, eyes wide. Harry fidgeted then mumbled, "It looks just like English, not sure what you're seeing..."

"Looks like...? Of course!" Kain exclaimed, leaping from his seat. "A _magical_ language, that's why I couldn't find it..." his voice trailed off as he disappeared into the back of the store, the sound of rustling telling Harry that he was digging to find something. The man came back a minute later and slammed an old tome on the table, slightly smaller than the last. A thick cloud of dust rose from it. He began flipping through it, scanning quicker than before.

He paused sometime later, which Harry was glad for, because he'd just been standing there awkwardly. Kain looked up at him over his glasses, keeping his head bowed, "Are there any languages you know you can read or speak other than English? That would help narrow it down."

Harry shook his head, frowning, "I don't know anything but English. And I can't _speak_ any _magical–_" he broke off suddenly, paling. Kain lifted his head. Harry gulped. His hands trembled, as did his voice, "I don't know anything but... but it shouldn't... it was part of the... I _can't_ still have it!" with one hand, he removed his glasses and with the other, he scrubbed his eyes. They weren't moist, but they did feel irritated. Very mildly, his scar tingled.

Kain's voice, quietly, brought him back to the present, "Can you tell me what–" he broke off the sentence. Harry sighed, slipping the glasses back on. Really, it wasn't such a big deal that he still had the ability. It might even come in handy; he remembered Voldemort using the language to reenforce his curses. Maybe he could too.

He sighed again and shook his head out. His fringe shifted slightly, but at the moment, Harry couldn't care. Let the man see who he was. Leaning forward, he brushed his fingers over the top book. His voice was a whisper, "I'm not sure if it has a written language, if that's what this is, but I can speak Parseltongue." Harry lifted his head, green eyes bright in the darkened building.

The gasp from Kain could've meant anything. Harry just hoped he wouldn't make a big deal out of it. But the man didn't look shocked in the right way. He was flipping through the tome instead, eyes wide and excited. Harry couldn't quite keep his grip on his melancholy from before; now, he was catching the excitement.

His mind jumped back to his research and he wondered what else was in the books. He rotated the pile so they were facing him properly, then, almost reverently, Harry picked up the top book, placing it to the side. For a moment, the silver lettering on the cover of the second book seemed to wiggle, then the perfectly scripted words appeared again. _Parselmagick_. Harry grinned.

"Aha!" Harry jumped, head wiping towards the sound. Kain had his finger stabbed victoriously on a page, nearing the end of the heavy tome, grin sharpening and softening his grizzled face simultaneously. It made Harry's head spin. Kain jabbed the page again, "I found it. _Parselscript_. Looks just like those wriggly lines."

"_Parselscript_..." Harry murmured, tasting the word. It... made sense. More than _Parselhand_, which was what he'd had in mind. The word caused something to click in his head, almost like when he'd first spoken to a snake. The brunet turned back to the pile, frowning thoughtfully.

"Do you think I could look through these?" he asked suddenly and Kain nodded happily.

"Just as long as you tell me the titles. I've got to write them down, you know; for the records," Kain bargained, fishing out a quill and _yet another_ large tome from underneath the desk.

Harry grinned, "Sure thing, Kain," and preceded to name them.

The first in the list was _Magicks of Healing_, followed by _Parselmagick_. The next three were journals, a series written by the same man. _Mysteries of the Serpent_, one, two and three. A quick skim told Harry, to his surprise, that it was about a type of Parselmouth-exclusive Animagus transformation. (Harry started to wonder how much the books would cost – who cares if Hermione would figure it out the moment she saw the squiggles?) The next two were about Dark Parselmagic; _Shadowe Serpentes_ and _ParselCurses_.

The last book, right at the bottom of the tile, sealed Harry's need for the books. It didn't have a true title, but looked remarkable similar to Tom Riddle's diary. Obviously, Harry thought vaguely through his frozen state, the book must have had a Preservation charm on it for it to be in that good of shape. Hesitantly, with slightly shaky fingers, Harry picked up the book. Kain slowed in his writing, watching the young man curiously.

A moment passed, during which Harry really didn't know what was going through his frenzied mind (_I can't believe– after all this time– putitdown!__–__ I wonder what–_) then Kain's voice, sounding so very far away, made him jump.

"Mr Potter...?" the shopkeeper asked hesitantly. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Harry said shakily, placing the book gently on the desk. He stared at it and the other nine (a total which included his previously picked tomes) before looking up at the man. "How... how much would these be...?" he whispered, forcing the words passed his suddenly dry lips. Said lips twitched, moving into a smile.

Kain blinked. Nodding quietly, he dug through the books near him, pulling out a frayed bundle of parchment, which he flipped through. He squinted at the books. His lips thinned and he sighed.

"Honestly? I have no idea. I've never seen books like them before. Parselscript! Do you _know_ how rare that is? But the amount of people who could actually read them are even smaller and I have enough things in here collecting dust." He sighed again, running a hand over his stubble, "Tell you what. Two Galleons a book for the Parsel set, and the regular seven each for the other two. So that's..." the man mumbled something, then nodded. Kain turned his eyes back to Harry, grinning, "How's thirty Galleons sound to you?"

Harry had thought it would be more – because, really, those books _were_ rare – but he just grinned back and fished out the required coins. Both knew it was a steal, but in this kind of shop, it would never come up. No one would ever even know they came from here. It was store policy.

As he was heading out the door, Kain remembered one last thing. "Hey wait!" Harry paused, looking back. "You never told me that last books' name. For the records, you know."

Harry smirked, the sun giving it an almost feral edge. "Salazar Slytherin's journal," he called and left the shop, chuckling at the gobsmacked look on Kain's face.

The sun was bright over Diagon Alley, lighting up even the furthest corners. And Harry still managed to walk through the street, grinning darkly the whole while.

Oh, this would be _fun._


End file.
